Living Muscle Morphs

[6 Word "You Call It" request--"Gym-Goer Turns Into Disproportionate Online Morph"]

[Muscle Growth, bodypart Shrinking]

Craig Golias held his phone at arm’s length to get all of his huge body in the shot. “Saaahhhhp!” he shouted. “Peak check!” He flexed his arm, bigger than an average man’s leg. “Pec shelf check!” He flexed the big meat balloons of his chest, accentuating the several-inches-wide surface that formed along the top of them when they were hard and crunched. “Are you even huge, brah? I mean, are you?”

He heard whispers behind him and assumed it was a fan, an admirer, or a hater--he hoped it was the last. He was in the mood to bully and humiliate some scrawny shit who wanted to run his mouth.

“Can you believe how fucking big he is?” whispered a woman behind him. It had to be about him, big Craig Golias. Who else was bigger?

“He looks like a photoshop, but like… in real life!” That was another woman, and Craig was sure he was their topic of conversation. Who else had the ridiculous muscularity that he sported? He turned to enter the conversation about him but stopped when he realized the women were looking in the opposite direction. They were pointing. Their mouths were wide open. Craig’s expression matched theirs when he saw the subject of their conversation.

It was Flex Lewis, Craig recognized immediately, but the big Welsh bodybuilder looked like he’d put on a few LBs--a few hundred, that is!

Luke was as wide as the double doors the gym staff held open so the big guy could squeeze through. Last time Craig had seen Flex, the big Welshman had come up to Craig’s shoulder. Luke actually had to bend down to get through the door this time!

Craig actually shivered as he felt gentle tremors in the ground with each of Luke’s footsteps.

“Hey big man!” Craig said loudly. Flex looked around, then looked down at Craig.

“Whoa, almost didn’t see you there!” Flex said. He cricked his thick neck and flexed massive traps.

Craig bristled at the comment--exactly the kind of thing he used to say to bodybuilders shorter than he was!

“Uh, hey, big man… Looking fucking huge, bro!” Craig gave Flex a gentle punch in his massive arm. Flex didn’t even budge--and the massive bicep felt like steel under Craig’s fist. “Looking to move some big weights today guy?”

Flex shrugged. “I’m gonna be going heavy today,” he said, patting Craig gently on the shoulder. “I don’t want you getting hurt or anything.”

As Flex walked away, Craig stood there and stewed in his humiliation. It looked like just moving Luke’s tank-sized body took effort. He had to be as wide as he was tall! Even his face looked different--blocky, like it had muscled up as much as the rest of his body.

“Guy’s pretty big, isn’t he?” said Mac, the gym manager, a middle-aged man in great shape by all standards except the bodybuilding freaks who frequented his gym.

“Uh, yeah, he’s got some size,” Craig said. He looked around, following the eyeline of everyone in the room. All the gym-goers who normally gawked at his cartoonish frame were focused with laser intensity on massive Luke as he curled full barbells loaded with 45s--none of the dumbbells were heavy enough.

“Just woke up that way, too,” Mac said. “Rumor has it, he went to bed a huge pro bodybuilder and woke up a big ogre of pure muscle. His bed had collapsed, he wrecked doors and doorways just getting out of his house. They have to specially make him a phone so he doesn’t crush it. Only way he can get around is on a flatbed truck that his manager drives!”

Craig’s dick twitched at all that. He absentmindedly raised a hand and flicked his right nipple, his tongue gently poking out of his mouth. “Fuck, dude, that’s BIG. That’s serious size, man.” Worst of all, Craig had a decent arm day planned. He was going to freak people out by chugging a couple Bangs and curling 120 pound dumbbells for reps. But big freaky Luke was curling what looked like 225 pounds per arm!

Craig slinked out of the gym and sat in his truck. He was so frustrated, so humiliated… the feeling of having something to say but not feeling confident enough to say it was so foreign to him.

And it made him rock fucking hard. He stared at the tent in his gym shorts as it sprang up before his steering wheel. Driving home was going to be hard. When he got there, he started jerking as he lumbered through the front door, his big arm flexing as he yanked his shorts down and pumped at his dick while the door still swung shut behind him. His roid-shrunken balls tightened up as he spurted out a decent-sized load (for him, that is). Relief lasted only a few seconds. He retreated to his bedroom and jerked himself until he fell asleep.

The next day he woke to a text from his buddy Davy Barnes. “Yo, big Craig, you lifting today? Want to crush some weights?” Craig leapt from his bed, squeezing his hulking frame into his shower to get ready. He chugged his preworkout with glee and drove to the gym with the truck’s gas pedal to the floor.

He couldn’t wait to see Davy--a good buddy of his, and a fellow Instagram stud because of his pretty face, his wide shoulders and his thick muscle bellies. What excited Craig the most was that Davy was just a little prettyboy peanut next to his own hulkish physique. If Davy were standing behind Craig, nobody would even know he was there! Without admitting to himself how badly he needed that, he leapt out of his truck. People would take pics of the two of them--pics of Craig’s massive size dwarfing blonde little fuckboy Davy!

Craig’s big legs went weak when he got a look at Davy who was already there, standing aside his truck in the parking lot.

Davy was as tall as his own truck and nearly half the width of it. His body looked packed with dense, hard-earned muscle he’d never had before. Even his facial features had shifted, looking thick and bovine now. He had a wide chin, a neck nearly thicker than his head, and a face that looked almost chubby with thick musculature. The rest of him just bulged out in all directions. Gone was Davy’s v-taper, his narrow waist, his physique-competitor proportions. He had a big dense roidgut now, his midsection as thick as his broad shoulders. His legs were so packed with hard beef, the best he could do to get around now as a waddle.

“Big Craig!” Davy said with a grin. He shook Craig’s hand (Davy’s beefy paw swallowing up Craig’s and nearly crushing it) and gave him a shove that nearly knocked Craig off his feet.

“The fuck? How the… what the fuck kind of gear are you on?” Craig said. Davy seemed so big Craig couldn’t take all of him in at once. His mind was blown by how his friend’s transformation--and the fact that Davy was easily the bigger man now. Craig almost regretted wearing a stringer-tank now. Standing next to Davy’s fully-covered bulk, he felt… inadequate? Was that the word? What an unfamiliar and unfamiliar sensation.

“Dude, I wish I could tell you,” Davy said, his voice a whole half-octave lower, rumbling from deep in his chest. “Doctors can’t figure it out. I can’t figure it out. Nobody believes me, but I swear-to-god just blew up this big. All at once. I’m surprised I didn’t go crashing through the floor, to be honest! I’m up over 500 pounds now.”

Craig’s mouth went dry. He had always dreamt of being over 400 pounds one day, the biggest muscle freak on Earth. Davy was already a hundred pounds above that.

The two of them headed toward the gym. Craig couldn’t help but feel like the little buddy--which made him want to bail on Davy and find someone smaller to hang out with.

“Honestly?” Davy said, looking around, stopping him with a massive hand that felt like it covered all of Craig’s huge pec. “Dude, when it happened? My girl was pegging me. You know how much I fucking love that--and I know you’re a freak too, big man--but one second she’s drilling me hard, the next I just… BOOM! Blow up to this size. My glutes crushed the strap-on. She said she felt like she was on top of an elephant. I guess I’m elephant-sized now, amirite?” He grunted and flexed his pecs. Even through his baggy shirt--what was it, a 5XL?--the bouncing chest meat looked amazing.

And Craig hated it.

“Y’know,” Craig said with a whine in his voice he couldn’t escape, “I think I… kinda… forgot my preworkout.” He stopped and turned back to his truck. “I gotta swing back home real quick…”

“Borrow mine,” Davy said with a grin. “I don’t even need it anymore. Doesn’t matter how hard I work out, I stay this big no matter what!”

“Well, I also forgot my straps and… I kinda gotta take a shit, and those bathroom stalls in the gym aren’t really big enough for me…”

“Fuck yeah, don’t I know it?” Davy said. “Pretty much everything is too big for me right now. I can’t eat enough, can’t sit on anything without breaking it, and you should’ve seen the doctor trying to find a scale that could weigh me.”

Craig hustled away from Davy, hopped into his truck, and peeled out of the parking lot. The whole time, his dick was throbbing in his shorts, twitching every time the fabric brushed up against it.

Craig lay in bed that night after a dozen furious masturbation sessions failed to tire his brain enough to let him sleep. He kept looking at himself in the full length mirror--wasn’t this big anymore, he thought? Wasn’t I a big guy? He looked like a swollen tick, ready to pop! His torso looked like it had been overstuffed with mass. People didn’t believe that his pics were real! But that wasn’t enough anymore, with freaks like Luke and Davy running around.

Then he got a text from Mac. “Get down to the gym right now!” it said. “Nick Walker is here and he’s GIGANTIC!”

Craig pulled a pillow over his head when he saw the picture. It couldn’t be real. Nick didn’t even look human anymore--each of his muscles had swollen up like balloons. He had to be four feet wide. His calves looked the size of Craig’s legs. Each of his massive pecs sat before him like a giant shelf of round muscle. Nick looked uncomfortable with all that size, like he was drowning in his own bulk, lost in overdeveloped mass he could barely control let alone carry around all day. Where Davy and Luke had looked like giant apeish versions of themselves, Nick looked like a parade float.

Craig shuddered to imagine how much that massive body could lift.

But Craig knew Nick. He could text Nick! He cut right to the chase: “Bro how the fuck did you get so huge?”

“No idea,” Nick texted back. Craig’s heart sank. What was it with his bodybuilder buddies waking up ten times bigger and not knowing why? That shit wasn’t possible. He needed more info, but before he could figure out how to ask for it, Nick texted again; “Funny thing though. This pic of me got sent to me, this photoshop. Crudely done. Looked ridiculous. But when I woke up it was me! I was the photoshop! Don’t know who it came from. Don’t want to know. Don’t want to lose all this.”

Craig blinked as he took this in. A quick text to Davy produced the same response: “Yeah, I got this photoshop of me the day before it happened. Blocked number. Honestly I forgot about it until now. Getting gigantic was real overwhelming!”

Craig studied the photo Davy sent, along with the one Nick had sent. He had to assume Luke had gotten the same thing. The photoshops looked rough--he could see the seams where the background warped or the colors looked off--but sure enough, each of the guys turned into the morph the next day.

Thus began the #CraigGoliasMorphChallenge.

Craig took a dozen selfies, relishing the fact that he was so big he could barely get all of him in frame. He gave smug looks at the camera while he flexed his massive arms, stuck out his tongue while he puffed up his pecs, and worked every angle to look absolutely beastly. “Best photoshop of me wins a prize!”

Make that shit go viral, Craig thought. Whoever’s doing this to those guys will do it to me. Fuck yeah! And as the photoshops came in, Craig couldn’t help but hump his bed, imagining he would wake up the next day bigger than a building, or so wide he’d be trapped in his house. Forget the logistics of being that huge: he wanted size and it didn’t matter how.

All day photoshops came in but Craig’s body stayed the same--until someone tried to Skype with him.

“Xprt_morphr500” tried to connect--and Craig hastily slapped his laptop with his big hands to accept the connection. On screen was a shadowy figure in a ski mask, the light so low he couldn’t see it. Craig wasn’t scared at all.

“Are you the guy making all my buddies fucking huge bro?” Craig said. “Do me! Do me!” He flexed his arm. “Make this 50 inches around!” he ordered. He hopped to his feet. “I wanna be 700 pounds! So huge with muscle I can’t even walk! So fucking big I leave cracks in the pavement walking around! Fucking do it, bro! Make me a fucking giant so I can stick my dick in a skyscraper and blow people out the other side with my own load!”

Craig talked himself into a hard-on--and he knew if he kept talking, he would most likely cum in his shorts with this stranger watching.

“You’re a bad subject,” the shadowy figure replied, his voice low and scratchy. “You already look like a muscle morph. There’s nothing else I can do to make you more freakish. You did it yourself.”

“Fuck no!” Craig said. He beat big fists against his big pec balloons. “Make me huge like Luke! And Davy! No, bigger! I want to take shits bigger than Nick! I want them to barely fit in my jockstrap! C’mon, man!” Craig was so worked up he thought he might lose control and snap his laptop in half--but he was desperate to get more size. He couldn’t control himself.

“I’m an artist,” the shadowy morpher growled. “I need the right raw materials to realize my vision. I like to take what’s beautiful and make it freakish. You’re already freakish. What else could I do to make you look more absurd?”

Craig had to slurp up some drool from his mouth. He was rock-hard with desire to be gigantic, shaking with the desire to make this strange figure grant his wishes. “I want to be so huge…” he said, desperate to grab his own nipples and twist them hard, “...that my head looks tiny as hell. Big giant body, so massive that my head’s just a little cherry tomato on top. That’s what I want. Do that! C’mon, bro!”

The morpher was silent for a few moments. “That’s not the worst idea I’ve heard,” he whispered. “Enjoy your morph.”

Then he logged off.

“Hey, fuck!” Craig said. He pawed at the keyboard, trying to reconnect, but the morpher was gone. Maybe he was working on changing Craig?

Suddenly his phone lit up. A blocked ID, texting him a pic! Sure enough, it was Craig--looking so massive that his head looked tiny atop all that ridiculous muscle--but the more he looked at it, he realized the morpher had just taken a screenshot of how he looked on Skype but reduced the head until it was so small it was barely visible. “Lazy morph,” Craig thought, but if it could come true… Fuck yeah!

He pulled off his tank top and took a look down. He looked the same--just as huge as always--no, wait… his arms looked like they were growing. And his chest. Holy shit, he thought, his body was getting HUGE! He was the size of a tank now. He had to be 15 feet tall; no, 20 feet! But his head was staying the same size. The rest of him was massive in comparison.

“Fuckl yeah!” he said. “Am I even huge, bro?” He stopped--his voice sounded weird; higher than usual, like it was being pitched-up with a voice modulator. “The fuck?” he said. He watched his chest expand out in front of him, watched his lats rise up on either side of his head, held his arms out as they swelled up, his hands getting further and further away. “What’s up with my… voice… bro!” He sounded like he’d huffed on helium--and it wasn’t going away!

That’s when he noticed his body wasn’t the only thing getting bigger; the room was growing too! “Wait a minute, what’s going on?” he said in his squeaky high-pitched voice. He turned--stumbling over a chair, as he could barely see anything below his gigantic body now. He clumsily raised a hand--it seemed so massive, so heavy and hard to control, that just holding it in front of his face and making a fist gave him a headache.

When he faced the mirror, he realized what was going on: his body hadn’t changed. His head had shrunk! It was barely visible, nestled in his hulking traps and huge upper pecs. With great effort he raised a hand and poked himself in the head with a finger--and squealed when he made contact. His finger was as wide as his head now!

“Fuck!” he chirped. “Fuck, man, I wanted to be huge! Not have a tiny head!” He could barely conceive of the size of his body now. He felt like a little tiny man trying to control a gigantic machine! But if he ignored the rest of the room, the idea of his body being so massive that it made his head look the size of a peach pit (with enough effort, he could ignore the idea that his head WAS the size of a peach pit) made his dick rock hard.

“Fuck yeah!” he squealed as he struggled to control his hand enough to jerk his dick. “My dick’s bigger than my head now!” He flexed a massive arm, bounced pecs that blocked his vision as they rose. “Fuck yeah! Who’s freakier than Craig now?” He shot what amounted to a tiny load in his hand--but when he raised it to his face, he realized it was enough to drown his little pea-sized head. “Fucking huge and freaky, bro,” he moaned, instantly hard again.